Why the fuck I agreed to come to this party, I will never know.
Chapter 25
Rylee
August’s hands stay in his pockets as he stands near the entry of the living room, as close to the door as he can get, so he can make an escape at any minute if he needs to. With quick steps, I walk over to Paige and kiss her cheek, wishing her a happy birthday as I hand over her present. She pulls at the ribbon and paper with enthusiasm until she comes to what’s inside.
“We all know about your love for cooking, so it’s a two-day course with one of the best chefs in the area,” I explain to her.
She screams and jumps into my arms, kissing my cheek. “This is the best present ever! Thank you, Rylee.”
Beckham pulls her back down, and she goes on to the next gift.
I walk over to August and nudge his arm with my shoulder. “Want to get a drink?” His head swivels in my direction, his eyes are hard and lips are thinned. It’s as if he’s protecting his words. “Come on, you need it.” I slide my hand down his arm until it falls into his hand, and I grip tight. Pulling him away, I take August into the kitchen.
He skims me up and down, assessing me before his eyes lock on mine. “You look good.”
“Thanks to you,” I tell him truthfully. With August, I feel safe. He makes me feel things I haven’t felt in such a long time. I like that about him. I like that, with him, his hands never touch me out of anger. They only ever pleasure me.
“Did you press charges?”
“Yes, his family…” I shake my head. “You don’t want to know about that.” I blink a few times and then ask, “When can I see you again?”
“You’re seeing me right now.”
“You know that’s not what I mean.”
“There you two are.” My mother comes into the room. “You should both come back into the sitting room. We are going to cut the cake soon.”
“We will,” I reply.
She’s hovering.
Way too much.
I watch as she looks at the glass in August’s hand, then at me.
“Please don’t leave him in my house unattended. You do know what he went to prison for, right?” My mouth drops open at her words, and my eyebrows rise so high I think they are going to fall off my face.
Now, that’s a new low even for her.
Incredibly mean.
Actually, vile.
“I’m going to leave.” August places his drink carefully on the counter, the one he never even got to taste.
“Yes, I think that’s best,” my mother agrees.
“Yes, so do I,” I say.
My mother smirks. August doesn’t appear shocked, he simply nods before turning.
I reach for my purse from the counter and then run to the sitting room announcing, “Mother has kicked August out. So, I have to go. Have a great night, Paige.”
“Rylee,” my mother screeches.
When I get outside, August’s standing there waiting for me, as if he knew I was coming.
“Where to, rich girl?” he asks, smirking.
“You are so hot and cold,” I tell him while unlocking my car. “Get in.”
I can’t help but smile when I turn to face him. “Paige was happy you came. I know it mustn’t have been any kind of fun…” He says nothing but does nod his head. “Do you not like me, August? Because I got the impression you did.”
August closes his knuckles and raps them on the handle of the door. “Why do you keep wanting to talk about feelings, Rylee?”
I come to a stop outside an ice cream parlor. “Ice cream helps the soul. Come… I bet you’ve never tasted some of the flavors they have here. Absolutely the best in this town.”
He gets out, closing the door and stepping closer to me. “You can be really annoying.” He says it, but I can see he doesn’t mean it—his eyes are the window to his soul and they are sparkling right now.
“It’s one of my most endearing qualities. And you love it.” I wink as he glances at me, and we stroll into the ice cream parlor. Looking at all the flavors, I can’t help but watch his face as he becomes confused.
“Bacon ice cream?” he says, and the shock is not lost on me.
“August?” We both look up to the guy wearing a white hat with an apron behind the counter.
Neither one of them speak. They simply stare at each other.
“Hi, I’m Rylee.”
“I know who you are, Miss Harley,” he replies, then his eyes fall back to August. “I tried to contact you. You just—”
“Let’s go,” August interrupts, gripping my hand so tight it almost hurts.
“No. We came for ice cream,” I say, pulling my hand free. “He’ll have the bacon.”
“I don’t want the bacon ice cream.”
“I’ll have the popcorn,” I say to the stranger who’s serving us, who also seems to be annoying August.